


In the Shadow of Loss

by eveshka



Series: The Dawn King Cycle [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, DID I MENTION SPOILERS, DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE SPOILED, Dawn King Cycle, Drama, Gen, Here There Be Spoilers, Spoilers, you should know this by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:18:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10127150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveshka/pseuds/eveshka
Summary: And now... the rest of the story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will not update quite as fast, I don't think, but Ignis' story begged to be told.  
> Galentius Calla is an OC, be nice to him. ;)

He'd been numb, and that had suited him just fine, thank you. But now, standing somewhere in what had to be the noisiest part of Lestallum, Ignis Scientia realized he was bloody terrified. Voices echoed off walls, in his head, overwhelming him and leaving him blind in more ways than he'd thought possible. What the Hell had he been thinking? How, by the Six, could he navigate this chaos? And who in Lucis was calling his name?

“Ignis? Hey, Ignis!” The voice was getting closer, and after a few heady moments in which Ignis thought he might have imagined it, the voice was closer. “Wow, it really is you! It's me, Galentius Calla.”

A hand gripped his forearm, an act old and almost as forgotten as it was familiar. Kingsglaive. The touch startled Ignis, and behind his tinted lenses, his frown ghosted for a moment. “Ah, Galentius, yes. It is good to see you.” Ignis had known some of the Kingsglaive had escaped Insomnia, but he didn't have names.

Galentius Calla was a young Kingsglaive, only a few years Ignis’ senior, and he'd been a classmate by virtue of the fact that Ignis was accelerated in his courses. They'd been as friendly as two young men on different busy life paths could be, and Ignis recalled that Galentius had entered the Kingsglaive shortly after graduation. Ignis was lucky indeed to have found a familiar voice in the mayhem that was Lestallum.

“Heard about Altissia and everything, are you advance for the Crownsguard?” Ignis heard the other man shift his weight, feet moving as if he was turning to look for the others behind the slender Advisor. Best to get it out now before the other man caused more of a scene.

Ignis felt very weary at that moment. “It is difficult to be advance for the Crownsguard when there is no Crown to guard, Galentius. Please, I am road-worn and in desperate need of a shower, food, and some rest. If you would be so kind as to show me where I might find a merchant for clothes, a facility where I might clean up and rest, I will tell you what I can when I am able.”

 

Galentius did better than Ignis asked, so much better, in fact. He led the once-Advisor to his residence, loaned him clothing, the use of his shower, and even cooked him a small meal. “It’s been chaos here, but we’re building Lestallum up to handle the arrivals. It’s a constant influx of people now, lots of Altissians who got out, thanks in no small part to you, I’m told.”

“The Crownsguard were charged with assisting the people of Altissia escape the wrath of the Hydraen,” Ignis replied, eating what he thought approximated something similar to the mother and child rice bowl he’d concocted. The memory of Noctis eating the dish threatened his composure, and Ignis put the fork down in favor of the glass of water.

There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor, and then the weight of a person slipping into that chair, a bowl touching the table. Galentius had sat opposite Ignis with his own food. “What happened after that? It’s been a while and you said there was no Crown to guard? What happened to the King?”

Ignis knew Galentius wasn’t talking about Regis. They all knew what had happened to Regis. “The King…” he barely believed it himself and he’d been there, how could he put it in terms that anyone else would understand? “The King is…” _Gone_. “I apologize, Galentius, but this is a conversation that must wait until I have rested.” Until he could put the proper words in place.

“Sorry, got a bit ahead of us,” Galentius agreed. “Come, you went through the bedroom earlier. There’s two beds. I’ve been looking for a roommate but hadn’t found the right one yet, so there’s a bed spare.” He rose from his meal without comment and led the blind man around and up some stairs, then through a door into a smaller upper room. “The bed’s here, and it’s on the same wall as the bathroom. Shouldn’t be too hard to figure your way around, and you can always call down if you need.”

Ignis settled himself on the bed, and sat there, bone tired, cane resting across his knees. He knew that the moment he allowed himself to fall into the mattress, he’d be lost to sleep for as long as his mind deemed it allowable. “Thank you.” He paused, took a breath, and before the other could leave the room, spoke again.

“Galentius, something I must warn you. Whatever you may hear… I apologize in advance. Sleep has not come kindly in a long time. Nightmares… plague me.” And it is hard to control one’s shout of terror when ripped from the grips of nameless shadow-daemons wearing the faces of those once loved and now lost.

“Man, sleep hasn’t been my friend since Insomnia fell. Price of battle, my friend. Price of freaking battle.” Galentius’ hand paused on Ignis’ shoulder, and then the pressure was gone. “Get what rest you can, and we’ll share battle stories later, Ignis.” Morning need not apply; the sun hadn’t been seen for a month.

Ignis sensed Galentius leave the room, heard footsteps retreat down the stairs and the distant sounds of a man returning to a meal left in favor of helping a friend. With a sigh of defeat, Ignis placed his cane carefully just under the edge of the bed, and felt around for the pillow. Once he found it, he did the near unthinkable, moving to rest his head on its soft surface, lying down fully clothed.

Within three heartbeats, he had fallen fast asleep and heard no more.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, Ignis awoke, gasping for breath, eye wide and unseeing in his perpetual clouded darkness. He steadied himself, stilling his thoughts, listening to his heart race, and then straining to hear if he’d woken Galentius. He heard nothing in the apartment, nothing in the room. Was he alone? Was the other man asleep and had he slept through whatever sounds Ignis had made?

He measured his life in heartbeats now, counting as his pulse sped along. The enormity of the world swelled around Ignis, and he felt tiny, insignificant against the vast unknown of the moment. And then, downstairs, there was a sound of glass against wood, and Ignis’ awareness returned to normal scale, the sound grounding him in reality. He rose, gathered his glasses and his cane, and carefully made his way down and into the front room. “Morning,”

“Not by the old clocks. Should be about two in the afternoon now. Don’t know why I keep this thing wound… not like we’re keeping time by the sun anymore. How’d you sleep?” Galentius’ voice moved as he spoke, and Ignis took that to mean the other man was rising from his seat and moving. Sure enough, at the end of his query, Galentius took Ignis by the arm and guided him to sit on what was either a sofa or a large oversized chair.

“Well enough, I suppose. I trust I didn’t disturb you?” Ignis normally hated being guided, but found he appreciated the assistance when it didn’t come with the price tag of pity.

“Didn’t hear a thing, to be honest. Of course, I’ve slept next to Libertus… and once you’ve done that for a week, you can sleep through damn near anything.” Galentius chuckled and moved away. “Need anything to eat or drink? I’m getting something for myself.”

“Water would be greatly appreciated,” Ignis replied, considering his options. “And, I’d imagine, a head start where I might find suitable employ and housing.” The thought of what he might be able to accomplish in Lestallum without his vision had left him at a loss.

There were sounds from the kitchen area, and then Galentius returned, footsteps soft on the carpet and then a cool glass was pressed to Ignis’ hand. “Hell, housing’s easy. You can stay with me if you’d like. Kingsglaive and Crownsguard gotta stick together, watch each other’s backs.”

“Inasmuch as I am capable?” Ignis remarked wryly. “I appreciate the sentiment, none the less. I will wish for employment so that I may pay my part of rent and expenses.”

“Totally unnecessary, Ignis. I own the place,” Galentius replied. “I bought it off a woman who was moving in with her son before everything went south. It's all good. And the only thing I'd want anyway is the story. What's the deal? Where are the others, why did you say there's no Crown to guard, and most importantly, where is Noctis?”

Behind dark glasses, Ignis closed his eye. “You know what happened in Altissia. And make no mistake; the Lady Lunafreya is indeed passed. The Empire came, took what they would, and left. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand, but we gave chase. In retrospect, I believe that was the second of our tactical errors.”

 

By the time the old clock chimed evening, Ignis had told Galentius all of it. Prompto’s kidnapping, (Ignis was careful not to let it slip that it was by Noctis’ hand,) their separation in Gralea, the rescue, even the fights amongst them, though he left out Prompto’s secret. Two truths that would go to Ignis’ grave. They weren't his truths to tell.

“So Noctis got taken by the Crystal and that's that. Until he comes back? Escapes? Magically returns? And you believed the _Chancellor of Niflheim’s_ words that Noctis would come _back_?” When Galentius gave it voice, Ignis had to admit that it sounded insane.

“In that moment, standing in the heart of Zegnautus Keep, deep in Niflheim territory, faced with the living embodiment of Starscourge? Yes. We had to believe it. Escaping with our lives cost us everything we had left, and we separated in Caem.” Suddenly Ignis couldn't bear the weight of his glasses any further, setting them to the side and ignoring Galentius’ hiss of surprise.

“I,” Ignis began, his voice shaken, “have lost. _So much_. My King. My _Prince_. My kingdom. My home. My friends. My-” his voice broke, the word escaping in a vicious angry hiss, “ _sight_.” He took a ragged breath, then continued. “The only thing I have left is hope, and do not dare try to take that from me, Galentius. _Don't you dare_.”

Ignis counted his heartbeat in an effort to calm himself, no longer able to use sight to refocus, though that too carried its own twist of indignation. He’d made it to fifty-seven before Galentius moved, and Ignis had no idea what the man was doing until he spoke, and he knew.

Galentius was on his knee before Ignis, and if those clouded eyes had been clear, he would have seen that what he sensed was correct: the Kingsglaive was saluting him, fisted hand against his chest, head bowed. “Your hope is my hope, Lord Scientia, and as long as you have need of me, my blades are yours.”

All of the anger washed out of Ignis, replaced by a stunned sort of peace, and Ignis found himself shaking his head. “No, I am not in need of blades, Galentius, though I appreciate your offer. What I need right now, more than anything, is a friend, if you are of a mind.”

“That is one thing you do not need to ask, Ignis. We’ve been friends since University. Now, come on. Let’s get you some food, and see what the evening brings.” For a moment Galentius’ hand rested on Ignis’ shoulder, and then the Kingsglaive was gone into the kitchen, leaving Ignis with his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

The evening, it turned out, brought stories of battles. Galentius filled Ignis’ world with a mostly first-hand account of the Fall, the chaotic struggle to escort Insomnians from the city, the betrayal of Drautos and the selfless act of Nyx Ulric. Ignis had blanched at the betrayal, recalling clearly the words Noctis had offered at their departure. _Drautos, he’s in your hands._

 _Noctis could never know_. Ignis told himself firmly, and added another truth to those that would go to his grave. “Not a word of this to Noctis when he returns. The past is done, and it will only be a distraction that opens old wounds. He will need all his strength looking forwards to his task, sparing no thought for that which cannot be changed.”

“Agreed,” Galentius responded, setting his glass of bourbon to the side. Ignis had foregone, wishing to be clear of mind to absorb the most information he could from the Kingsglaive. He didn’t begrudge the other man his alcohol; he well understood the desire to fortify one’s heart and dull the mind when recalling painful memory.

“How many survived? Kingsglaive,” Ignis clarified, sipping his water and trying to comprehend the enormity of the losses.

“Twelve, at first. That number fell fast when we pushed back into Insomnia in search of survivors. In the end, there were four of us that made it back to Lestallum. Libertus… he bought us escape from Pulmoor near Alastor. Marcus fell in Rydelle. Myself, Stasios, Licinia, and Jon survived.” Galentius sighed, took a drink, and continued.

“Stasios is somewhere with a band of Hunters trying to keep the upper roads as safe as possible. Jon and Lici are out… he took a real bad fall before the tunnel into Lestallum and his hip sidelined him. Lici refused to let him die alone, so we hauled his ass along and they’re on the other side of town now. He runs a weapons shop, applying Insomnian techniques to whatever the Hunters need. Not as good as old Cid in Hammerhead, but he gets the job done. Lici would marry him if he’d let her, but she’s happy being by his side.”

 _Well, at least someone found some happiness in all this rotten mess_ , Ignis thought, and set his water to the side after ensuring the table was underneath the glass. “And you? Have you chosen a path in Lestallum?”

“I helped with the refugee arrivals, mostly to keep looking for the Crownsguard. And by the sounds of it, I’ve found you. If Amicitia and Argentum aren’t coming to Lestallum, then that duty is done. Food’s going to go scarce soon enough, so I may join up with some of the Hunters pushing down towards Ravatogh and see what we can’t come up with before everything goes to hell,” Galentius responded. “Don’t look at me like that… I can’t just sit on my ass here and pretend that I’m not trained to take care of things that others shouldn’t try to do.”

Ignis snorted, and if it mattered, he’d actually rolled his eyes. “Far be it for me to tell His Majesty’s Kingsglaive what they should and shouldn’t do. And perhaps you will fill a berth that would have been taken by someone less trained. Just see to it that you _keep_ that berth.” _And don’t die._ “Your shoes will be awfully difficult to fill.”

“Especially considering the holes they’ve developed,” Galentius quipped, and they both shared a somewhat sadder and strained laugh over the state of things.

 

Hours later, Ignis sat on the small balcony of the apartment or townhouse, or whatever one could call this small residence, listening to the chatter in the streets below. He knew it was well past a time that anyone would have been sleeping before the sun stopped rising, and still somehow life moved along. Without ‘night’ and ‘day’ to denote time, Lestallum was shifting into a city that didn’t sleep, as if Insomina’s refugees had brought their own insomnia with them, and corrupted the small city.

Accents rolled up from the streets, flowing past Ignis, telling him just how much Lestallum had changed. There, Altissian. Over that way, Insomnian. And one or two, like himself, tattered remnants of an accent overeducated for the world as it now stood. Certainly he could attempt to fall back to an accent long unused and almost forgotten, but that would only remind him of the time Noctis managed to get him so inebriated that he lost his accent and half his wits.

As embarrassing as it had been, it was a memory of Noctis at his most dangerously playful… and far too painful to relive. Ignis would give anything to hear that laugh again. The one that meant that Noctis was up to heartstopping levels of no good and it would be up to Ignis to clean up the resulting chaos. He hadn’t heard that laugh in so long it was fading from memory. Another heartbreak to set aside for later when Ignis could afford the emotion.

Suddenly he heard Gladio’s voice in his head, echoing in the walls of Zegnautus Keep. _“Gonna shut it all out, Iggy? It’ll come back and bite you in the ass in the end.”_

 _“Better in the end when things are over than to lose composure in the middle of battle,”_ Ignis had retorted, knowing full well that Gladio’s way of handling emotion was to get angry and kill daemons. If only it was that easy for Ignis.

Ignis knew the best way for him to work through his emotions. Unfortunately, it was by means no longer afforded to him. Even if Noctis returned today, Ignis would never see his smile again, and that was perhaps the most heartbreaking thing of all.

So instead of obsess over his emotions and what he’d lost, Ignis opted to put his feelings aside, sip his tea (it was nowhere near as good as Ebony, but needs must) and listen to the people on the streets of Lestallum to hear what news was in the air.


	4. Chapter 4

Ignis spent hours on the balcony, lost in listening to Lestallum. Not a bit of news went past him that he didn’t hear, file, and refer back to later when it came needed. Through listening, he learned that Prompto had joined up with the hunters in Hammerhead and gone to Ravatogh. He learned that Gladio was rebuilding Caem by himself. They were moving on. Part of him was pleased. Part of him felt left behind.

He was nursing his latest cup of tea, contemplating the most recent news that hunters were wanted all over Lucis when the door behind him opened and Galentius called to him. “Ignis, come. There is something I must tell you, but not here. Walk with me.”

Tea regretfully set aside, Ignis rose, collected his cane and followed the sounds of Galentius’ footsteps back inside and down the stairs.

He was led, halfheartedly protesting, through streets, navigated around chaos and noise until he was brought to a relatively quiet area and then torn between confusion and wariness, finally rounded on Galentius. “Where are we? Why is it so quiet? Is it safe to be here?”

“Perfectly safe, Ignis. We’re to the east of the power plant, where they’ve plotted for building. There’s plenty of lights, and room to move.” Galentius replied. “And I know it’s been hard these past few weeks. I know hope is the only thing you have, and the one thing that you desperately want is something intangible.”

“The one thing I desperately want,” Ignis echoed. _Noctis_. “ _Quite_ intangible.” _Gone_.

“But what if I could give you proof that our King lives, proof beyond intangibility?”

“The very fact that Noctis is beyond my reach is what puts me here, in Lestallum.” Ignis’ cane flickered out, in search of something, anything, and he startled when Galentius kicked it away from him. “What? Give that back.”

“I will give you something,” Galentius replied, from desperately close, his body pressing against Ignis, one strong arm circling the advisor in a firm grip not unlike that which was used to catch a drowning man. “Bring your arms around my shoulder and hold firm. _Do not let go_.”

Ignis was so startled, he found himself moving, reaching up to clasp his hands around Galentius’ body, holding fast even as he opened his mouth to ask why he was doing such an absurd thi-

Galentius’ free arm moved, and Ignis’ world exploded. _Crystal. Blue. Magic._ A breath-rushing headlong movement through something he couldn’t quite grasp, and then Lestallum was there again and Ignis was sagging against Galentius in dumbfounded shock, with half-felt impressions wisping through his mind.

“You still with me, Ignis?” Galentius asked, his breath hot against Ignis’ ear.

“Do it again.”

Galentius moved again and this time Ignis was ready. The air changed, almost sharp and clean, as the air felt in winter with the snows. It was not cold, nor was it hot, but perhaps it was that he wasn’t there for that long. He could sense the power of the Crystal, could feel the magic thrill around him, through him, through Galentius, extended to a single point somewhere beyond and rapidly approaching them. No… _they_ were approaching _it_ , a sensation not unlike running towards something-someone familiar. Noctis. He could feel Noctis there- and suddenly it was Lestallum once more.

It hit him with absurdity. He’d _warped_. Galentius had held him tightly and warped. And that warping brought him closer to Noctis- “ _Again_.”

“Once more, and then I risk stasis, and even though we’re considered safe here, it’s personal policy to never hit stasis if I can help it.” Galentius replied, threw his blade, and then they warped.

When they landed, Ignis’ pulse was racing, something thrilling through him. He’d realized that all three times, he’d sensed Noctis’ presence, felt the man as if he’d been there, watching. As Galentius released him to stand on his own two feet, Ignis felt something shift in his chest. And when he opened his mouth, a laugh escaped.

“You took to that well,” Galentius said, with his own half-laugh. “What did you feel?”

“Everything. I felt the Crystal, the magic… I could sense Noctis.” Ignis could barely believe it, but he’d felt it. He’d been carried along through the warp as if… “I didn’t know you could carry someone through a warp.”

“How do you think we teach the new Kingsglaive? Those of us who are skilled enough drag them through it until they do it on their own,” Galentius replied, chuckling at Ignis, and then amended his quip. “But no, seriously, if you felt the Crystal, I could probably teach you to warp. Don’t know why they didn’t think to do it before, but you’ve got the stuff to do it.”

“Then teach me. If I do nothing more than use it in extreme situations, where I must escape with my life, teach me.” Joy burst through Ignis, a feeling he thought he had lost. Noctis was alive. Ignis knew it. Ignis had felt him, had sensed him, indeed the very fact that Galentius could warp proved the Line of Lucis was intact. And that meant beyond shadow of doubt that Noctis was alive.

Overwhelmed by the truth, Ignis Scientia threw his arms out, tilted his head back and laughed his hope to the skies.

Noctis was _alive_.


	5. Chapter 5

Learning to point-warp had not begun immediately. No, the first thing that Ignis had to learn was to be still. There was, he learned to his immense surprise, a difference between being still and being _still_.

Being _still_ meant to calm the mind, listen for the Crystal, feel its magic everywhere. It was, to Ignis’ endless dismay, _work_. Lestallum wasn’t quiet. Lestallum wasn’t still. No matter how hard Ignis meditated, Lestallum invaded and spilled into his awareness. It was harder, he thought, because he was blind. He relied on sound, on scent and touch. He required the very senses he was trying not to pay any attention to.

No wonder Noct had come home from his warp lessons and fallen over. Ignis felt much the same, and he was sitting on the balcony not twenty feet from his bed.

 

It took almost a year and a half before Ignis could reliably sense the Crystal’s magic, though it was achieved, in part, through what Galentius called a witty twist. Ignis had figured out that by detaching himself from a constant assessment of the world around him, he could sense the magical flow in the area surrounding him. Combined with his spectacularly useless ability to distinguish vague shape and shadow? He could, in effect, see.

Living things made the magic move differently from inanimate. And the one time Galentius allowed him to test his theory regarding daemons, Ignis learned that daemons had a twisted magical taint all their own. With enough practice, Ignis reasoned, he could likely pass for sighted within the year.

Thus, empowered and inspired, Ignis was moving through the streets of Lestallum with ease two months later, and felt confident enough in his ability to slip in and out of the _still_ that Galentius would start actual warp training soon.

He’d made tea, and was parked on the balcony, enjoying the moment, reading a Braille book now that he was finally proficient enough to do so, when the knock on the door below caught Ignis’ attention and he set his book to the side. “On my way,” he called, and moved through the bedroom and down the stairs, while half in the _still_ , using it to navigate.

“You’re back early. Did you lose your-” Ignis began as he opened the door, and then stopped. It wasn’t Galentius. Frowning, Ignis pressed his fingers to the darkened lenses of his glasses and cleared his throat. “May I help you?”

“Crownsguard Scientia?” The voice wasn’t known to Ignis, the woman’s lilt betraying her Insomnian heritage. “My name is Licinia Ferrae.” Her touch might have startled him before he’d learned stillsight, and the Kingsglaive armclasp was brief. “Might I come in?”

“By all means.” Ignis moved out of the way and motioned her to follow him into the front room. “A fellow Kingsglaive, and friend of Galentius is welcome in his home. He is not here at the moment; he went to assist the hunters leaving Ravatogh.” Galentius had gone to help Prompto amongst others, and Ignis had made him swear not to be too curious if the younger Crownsguard wasn’t talkative. “I don’t expect him for another few days.”

“Crownsguard Scientia, sir… Ignis…” Licinia’s voice was quiet, and she hadn’t followed him into the other room, staying by the door, shifting her weight as she stood, as if she wished for all the world to be somewhere else, but honor bound to remain by duty.

“Ah,” Ignis said quietly, lowering his head. “I see.” He took a breath, steadied himself, and gave up trying to remain in the _still_. “Did he make a difference?”

“Crownsguard Argentum and his party were safely escorted to Meldacio, but Galentius fell near Paralleth. I was brought these, but I think you should have them.” The jingle, that unmistakable sound of metal against metal. She’d brought Galentius’ dog tags back to his home. To his friend. To Ignis. “We’re raising a glass for him tonight at the Leville. If you’d like to come, you’ll be welcome.”

Ignis lifted his right hand to receive the dog tags, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal and holding them there, momentarily at a loss. “I…” He took a breath and tried again. “I would imagine that I could find new lodgings within the week. With some hunters, perhaps. To whom shall I remand the keys?”

Now, she moved, her hands lightly folding over his holding the dog tags. “Everything was prepared for, sir. This is your home, for as long as you wish it. It is custom, you see, in the Kingsglaive. Before we head out on missions, we make writs; they stand for us when we die. And Galentius’ last writ filed in Meldacio names you as heir. I’m so sorry.”

Ignis brought his other hand up to rest atop hers, and offered a faint but understanding nod. “He was a good man and he will be missed. It would be an honor to raise a glass with you. This evening?”

“Yes... come by when you like, we’ll probably be there within the hour and put half of Lestallum to bed before we call it done.” Her hands slipped from his, and he brought his right hand fisted around the dog tags to his chest, saluting her. He heard her echo the gesture, and then she fled into the darkness.

The door closed behind her and left Ignis standing alone in the front room of a residence that was suddenly both his and far emptier than he could ever have imagined it to be. It took him a long time to find the _still_ so he could go upstairs and prepare for his friend’s wake.


	6. Chapter 6

A month later, Ignis Scientia was looking for someone to spar against. He’d finally summoned the courage to call his daggers to his hands, berating himself for clinging to the irrational fear that they wouldn’t come and it would prove Noctis was gone. He should have done that first.

But the old forms came back to him, the dagger play as familiar as breathing, and though the lance was at first unwieldy and awkward, he’d managed to recover some finesse. Or, so he thought. Licinia proved him wrong time and time again, that his use of the lance had lost much of his finesse, so he relied more on the daggers. He’d been deadly with them before, but Licinia taught him how they were an extension of his hands. Under her tutelage, his dagger skills were honed and refined, rivaled only by his wit.

Ignis had been saddened to learn that of the surviving Kingsglaive, only Galentius had retrained himself in the ability to point-warp after Regis’ death, and after a few misguided attempts that resulted in hour-long searches for his thrown dagger, Ignis resigned himself to stillsight and stopped trying to warp.

Stasios wasn’t able to train with Ignis given that he was helping the hunters, though he’d asked Ignis for assistance with logistics and maintaining what he called the daemonaria, which was where Ignis found himself up to his neck in information, compiling it into an active bestiary. Ignis had found a new purpose and he was _thriving_.

A month later, Ignis was doing his own solo dagger drills in the shadows down by the power plant when a familiar voice caught his attention. “Bladework is good, but your footing is sloppy. Get off your heels and stay on the balls of your feet.” A figure laced with quiet magic slipped into Ignis’ immediate reach and Cor the Immortal tapped one of Ignis’ blades with his own. “Stop shuffling and dance.”

After that, Ignis’ life settled into a new schedule. He trained with Cor, regaining lost ground and confidence when he wasn't compiling daemon data. He spoke with Prompto through radio, and they’d taken up correspondence, though Ignis dictated his replies to letters read aloud by Licinia. Given the somewhat public nature of their communications, they were careful around sensitive subjects, but Ignis always asked after Gladiolus. Prompto’s replies were always the same: _haven't seen him, heard he's good._ Ignis understood.

The day word had come of a magitek engine located in Vaullerey, Ignis radioed to Gladiolus, inviting him to Lestallum.

 

The visit hadn’t gone well.

The magitek engine proved to be a useless hunk of scrap, given that they couldn’t get the thing to interface to Lucian tech, and the swordsman was distant, wary. He didn’t sound like the man Ignis remembered, and the magic that swirled around him was different from what swirled around the Kingsglaive and Cor.

Gladio’s magic seemed dampened somehow, and Ignis couldn’t put a finger on it, so invited the man to a meal to try to bridge the distance. It was stiff, difficult, and after making what was clearly a hasty excuse, Gladiolus vanished from Lestallum and rarely ever answered the radio after.

It had disappointed Ignis; he was still mourning the loss of Galentius, and he had wanted to rebuild the friendship on his own terms and not as an extension of his friendship with Noctis. He’d wanted to get Gladiolus’ thoughts on joining the hunters, wanted to spar with the man as they had before the sun fell. He wanted… he’d wanted his friend back, and it hadn’t happened.

 

Perhaps that was why Ignis had thrown himself into compiling more data in the makeshift war room, driven to ensure that as many details were notated as possible. More data meant more knowledge, and knowledge of the daemons would help keep Gladiolus and Prompto _safe_. Sleep and often food fell to the wayside, and after repeatedly telling Licinia that he was fine, she vanished from the war room, to Ignis’ weary relief.

Stylus, yes. Paper, check. His left hand slid across a page, and he frowned. The Braille was making no sense. He repeated the motion, sighing, and setting the stylus down from his right hand to take up the paper his left had trailed over. Ah, yes. Upside down. Again. He righted it, set it back in place and fished around for the stylus. It was cold in the room and he made a mental note to ask they turn the heat up the next time someone came by. Now where did he put that stylus?

A throat cleared behind and to the left of him, and Ignis turned, realizing that he wasn’t enough in the _still_ to see who it was. “Apologies, I seem to have misplaced my stylus and didn’t hear you. How may I help you?” He couldn’t quite slide into the _still_ , and wondered if it was because the room was cold. How could it be cold, he was in Lestallum? Nothing was cold in Lestallum. “Apologies for the chill in the room, may I be of some assistance? You haven’t seen my stylus, have you?”

“Crownsguard Scientia, my name is Stasios Teleon. We’ve met over the radio,” The voice was deep, similar in timbre to Weskham’s, Ignis thought, and he wondered where Weskham was. He hadn’t thought of the man from Maagho for some time, and it might be good to catch up with him. Compare recipes.

He tried to slide into the _still_ , failed, and sighed, lifting a hand to touch his glasses and reseat them on his nose. “Yes, Stasios, I recall. Good of you to come. Do you see my Braille slate? I’ve managed to misplace it and I’m having difficulty finding it. It really is rather chill in here, perhaps that’s what is making it difficult to concentrate. What can I do for you?” Ignis turned back to pat around atop the desk, finding the stylus and setting it to the side in search of the paper he’d misplaced. Where had it gotten off to? He’d just had it a moment ago… perhaps it had fallen to the floor.

Ignis knelt to feel around the floor for his missing glasses, overbalanced and fell. _Oh, there they are_ , he thought muzzily as his glasses fell into his hand, and then true blackness overcame him.


	7. Chapter 7

The world slowly came back around to paying attention to the man on the bed in the apartment. Or, perhaps it was that the man in the bed simply started to realize that the world was there. He was, after all, warm, comfortable, and completely undressed. That led to some idle curiosity, as he wasn’t in the habit of sleeping au natural; that was more Gladiolus’ style. And yet, there Ignis was, as naked as the day he was born, in his own bed and he had absolutely _no memory_ of how he got there. He lifted a hand, resting the back of it against his forehead and sighing.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

There were things you did and didn’t do around the Crownsguard, or the Kingsglaive, for that matter. First and foremost was: Never Startle Someone With Access to an Armiger. Ignis was on his feet, halfway across the room, his back against a wall, daggers in hand and failing his third attempt to slide into the _still_ before his guest could react.

“ _Bahamut’s balls_ , that wasn’t half a joke about you waking up poorly. Sorry, it’s Stasios. You’ve been ill. I’ve been helping around the place, trying to keep you alive… can you just… at the very least put the daggers away?” The voice matched the dusky voice Ignis recalled, and as he flicked his fingers to release the blades back into the Armiger, he finally managed to slide into the _still_.

The figure that had spoken was seated in the chair Ignis had chosen to sit in the corner of the room after replacing the two beds with one, and as far as Ignis could tell, he was the only other person there. There was that same Crystal-touched magic within him as within Licinia, and that could only mean Kingsglaive. “Apologies. I was not expecting… guests.”

There came a chuckle from the other man and he rose from his chair. “Clearly, considering you fell out in the Leville and I brought you here after a call to a medic and Licinia. But I should let you dress, and then we can discuss your illness and recovery at leisure.” The traditional bow was given, which Ignis returned as best he was able, and Stasios left the bedroom and made enough noise as he went down the stairs to wake Titan himself.

Ignis, bereft of sight, memory, and dignity, thumped his head back against the wall for a few heartbeats before he moved towards the dresser and selected clothing from specific drawers. A place for everything and everything in its place. It was, how he found his things after having had them sent up from Hammerhead. Noctis’ belongings were with him as well; it had not seemed right to leave them to languish in Cid’s care.

At length, he chose his clothing, and set it to the side, stumbling a moment as he moved. He was not fully recovered from whatever ailment had laid him out, and heard Stasios' steps on the stair moments before the other man called out. "Are you well? Is there anything I may do in assistance?"

"I am well enough to wish to be clean before I dress, give me some time and I will be down."

"Please allow me to assist," Stasios' voice came from the doorway, and Ignis froze. Truly, did the man even notice his nudity? Did he _care_? Did it occur to him that Ignis might be uncomfortable with it? A hand ghosted at his shoulder, and the figure slipped past and moved into the bathroom. There were a few noises, and then the water was on.

It masked the other man's steps- or he was just that quiet? Ignis knew which he would bet on. “I have started the water, and will assist you in your bathing.”

Had this man appointed himself as Ignis’ Chamberlain? Great Titan, was this how Noctis had felt? Ignis felt his cheeks burn and he raised a hand. “I… thank you, Stasios, but I do not need to be coddled. I am simply weak from my illness, and miss-stepped.”

“Mmmmm,” Stasios offered noncommittally. The raised hand was taken gently, used to lead Ignis into his bathroom and then supported as Ignis found himself stepping into the warm water, sinking in with a grateful sigh. Stasios rose, turned the water off, and moved away, pausing at the door. “I shall leave you to your bath, but will return before your water grows cold.”

Stars above, Ignis had never felt so at odds. Had his own blindness inured him to embarrassment over nudity? True, he had felt awkward with Stasios so close, but there had been nothing untoward in the other man’s behavior or touch. Thus, Ignis hadn’t paid it much mind. Interesting.

He bathed, finding the soap and wash cloth by memory and cleaned himself carefully. He slid into the stillsight as Stasios returned to the bathroom and knelt beside the bathtub. “Allow me,” he offered, taking the cloth from Ignis’ unresisting fingers and proceeding to wash Ignis’ back.

“Why do you do this?” Ignis asked quietly, wondering how he went from a force of logic and reason to sitting almost meekly in his bathtub while a near stranger tended to his care.

“Because you are a man driven, and man driven lives by his heart and not his head, forgetting himself in his pursuit of his goal. Sometimes, a man who is driven needs someone to tell him when to stop.”

“I do not understand.”

“That is why I am here.”

Ignis snorted, and tried to ignore the fact that Stasios had washed that part of his back twice. “You’re here because Licinia is afraid of me.”

“I’m here because I won’t tell anyone that the famous Ignis Scientia stays clean-shaven because his beard is darker than his hair.”

Ignis’ hand lifted to his face and yes. He needed to shave. “And what proof do I have that you won’t be telling anyone, not that it matters who knows?” That, was, in part a lie. Noctis would have laughed himself sick if he’d known.

“Because I am here.”

“Do you do this to everyone the first time you meet?”

“No. Just Crownsguard who forget they’re human.” The wash cloth stopped moving and was draped on Ignis’ shoulder. “That should set you to rights. Shave, dress, and meet me downstairs. Then I’ll tell you why I’m really here.”

Ignis thought he’d be so lucky.


	8. Chapter 8

Stasios met Ignis downstairs with a cup of tea, and then they’d stood together in the kitchen for a few minutes before Ignis spoke. “So. I am clean, shaven, and dressed. I believe those were the requirements for me to learn why you are here.

“I told you, in part. A man as driven as you needs someone willing to remind him when to step back and stop.”

“I do _not_ need someone to tell me when to stop.”

There was the sound of something set down on the counter, and a hand rested on Ignis’ upper arm. “Crownsguard Scientia, that is the first in a list of things you need. Now, sit; I’ve nearly finished this for you to eat.” The other man pushed Ignis towards the table, and with an annoyed sigh, Ignis took his tea and sat. "Twelve o'clock."

A plate was settled before Ignis, and he reached experimental fingers to touch the edge of the ceramic and trail them up into the toast that was resting atop the dish. “Toast?” He took up a slice, moving it to his lips and taking a bite. A lightly spiced sweet citrus burst on his tongue, the unmistakable scent of Duscaen orange filling his nose. The flavors were complementary, and Ignis considered them as he chewed. He’d never thought to mix Leiden pepper with the oranges, to blend the sweet spice of pepper against the brightness of the citrus. This was _good_.

His face must have betrayed his thoughts, because Stasios chuckled and moved down the kitchen, using the sink for a moment before turning the water off and speaking. “Much of what was here was past eating, and I thought you'd appreciate a new recipe. Argentum said you cook.”

“Did he put you up to this, then? Give you an order as Crownsguard to take care of me?” Ignis set the toast down and took up the mug of tea again. It would, of course, make sense. Prompto was the one who took care of Ignis after Altissia.

"He did not. I saw a need and decided to fill it.”

 “Why?”

The silence that filled the kitchen was strangely heavy, and the chair in which Stasios was seated shifted when the other man stood. “Before I was Kingsglaive, I had a life and a lover. When the Empire pushed into Lucis, he was killed in the battle. I understand personal loss. I understand being adrift without a purpose. No man should live without someone who understands and supports him.”

Ignis set his tea to the side, folded his hands in front of him and considered the implications. Stasios had a male lover. Stasios lost said lover when the Empire attacked, and subsequently joined the Kingsglaive. And now, he was acting as Chamberlain and caretaker to a member of the Crownsguard. “What part of Lucis did you call home before?”

“A seaside village in the north… not too far from Galahd. We were simple people, living off the Lucinian Sound. Like Galdin Quay, our homes were built above the water. We swam, we fished, we loved our lives. And it was taken from us when the Empire attacked. Those of us that lived fled to Galahd, only to continue our flight to Insomnia.” Dishes moved in the sink, and for a time, the only sounds were those of Stasios washing cookware.

A story too familiar to Ignis’ ears. “I am sorry for your loss,” Ignis replied, sitting back in the chair and trying to come up with something else he could offer. He wasn't finding much, other than a strange sort of appreciation for the company.

“As am I, but it is done, and there is naught to do for it. My focus now is to ensure that you recover. Eat.” Ignis smirked, the words entirely too familiar from the other side, and he took up his toast and ate.

 

Ignis' recovered from his illness, nursed back to heath by Stasios' calm insistence that Ignis eat regularly and sleep, despite his nightmares. Sometimes he awoke alone with a gasp. Other times, he was pulled from terrors by fingers in his hair, a hand clasping his, or warmth against his back. It was comfortable, reminiscent of nights in the tent on the road. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d missed companionship.

 

In time, he was back in the War Room in the Leville, putting his knowledge back to work. Unfortunately, it also made him curious. He wanted to know if his theory would hold, so he slipped out of Lestallum, slid into the _still_ , and summoned his daggers.

Two hours later, Ignis was fighting for his life against a red giant. He wasn’t certain how it had happened; he’d been fighting imps and as the fight had progressed, things had gotten bigger. He was in over his head, and alone. He called his lance, keenly aware that he hadn’t used it since Licinia had swept it out from under him, but Ignis knew he was running out of options. He paused, checked his grip, and then leapt.

He landed and the red giant roared in anger, but the stillsight didn’t lie. The daemon was dead; it just didn’t know it. The tainted magic was spilling from the creature, dissipating into the night like the breath that Ignis exhaled. It would, of course, take some time without a fatal blow, but Ignis had no intentions of staying around to deliver it; he was moving for Lestallum as fast as he could.

The enemies were vanquished, Ignis was alive, and he’d done it on his own. That was cause for celebration.


	9. Chapter 9

“Ignis! Where have you _been_ , man? How- what did you do? You look as if you’ve battled half the Night itself.” Stasios met him at the door, properly horrified at the thought that Ignis had hunted alone, reaching to draw the man into his own residence, then half-drag him up the stairs and stand him fully dressed in the shower. “Where are you bleeding? Have you any potions? Ramuh’s _beard_ , Ignis. What were you _thinking_?”

Ignis, slightly disorientated by the swift movement and the rattling impact of Stasios being in his home without him, was unprepared when the water was turned on full blast (and cold) in his face. He spluttered, turned, and managed to choke out a query. “How did you- do you have a key?”

“Yes, Licinia gave me the key they’d given her- hold still, there’s flan in your hair- do I even want to know how that happened? Anyway, Licinia gave it to me when you collapsed.” Hands turned Ignis, moved him bodily into the now-warm water and worked through his hair.

Ignis tried to ignore the questionably heavy splashes hitting the floor of the shower, and grumbled something under his breath about revoking Stasios’ key privileges. Except he hadn’t known about the- “It wasn’t a flan. I’m afraid it was a gelatin, though wait… it had a sort of hardness to it. It was probably a crème brûlée, now that I think about it.”

“A crème brûlée. Are you mad, Ignis Scientia? Going after one of those alone?”

“I started with imps. Things simply progressed at extreme exponentials until I arrived at the impasse of fighting a red giant alone. Discretion being the better part of valor, I departed after mortally wounding the thing,” He was still shaken, shaking. Amazed he survived and exhilarated he had beaten it.

“I was unaware you disliked my company to such an extent. Shall I give back the key?” There was a dry sort of wit in there, that Ignis had to pause for a moment to process before accepting it as the joke it was intended.

“No, if someone has to have a spare, it might as well be you, as I’ve grown accustomed to your noise,” Ignis retorted, then moved to push the hands away from his hair. “Thank you, I think I can finish my shower, unless you’d care to berate me some more for my dessert choices?” The washcloth hit him in the stomach and Ignis heard Stasios step out of the bathroom, chuckling. The still dressed man in the shower had to duck his head into the water to hide his smile in case Stasios returned. He had to admit, he’d missed moments like these.

 

Ignis invited Stasios to come hunt with him and after a few months of sparring, hunting, developing new tactics and tools together, it made sense for Stasios to keep a change of clothing or two at Ignis’ – just as Ignis moved some clothing to Stasios’ residence. That way, no matter where they ended up after a hunt, they had clean spare clothing into which they could change.

At least, that was how Ignis rationalized it, and it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that a year later, one now consistently curled up against the other for rest, and found sleep all the better for it. It wasn’t romantic; there was never any sexual aspect or impression. It was simple comfort.

It was especially comforting when the nightmares gripped Ignis and he awoke to gentle hands in his hair and soft sounds at his ear of a song being hummed to ease his mind. The Crownsguard was never certain if he should be pleased when he slept through a night peacefully, or annoyed that he didn’t half-wake to the half-familiar song that lulled him back to sleep.

 

During their ‘day’, when Ignis was nearby, Stasios was handsy. That was to say, that if Ignis was within reach of the other man, there were ghosted touches here and there along his arm, his shoulder, his back. Something to tell Ignis that Stasios was there, even if the Crownsguard wasn't using his stillsight. (Indeed, if asked, Ignis would have said Stasios was even more handsy than Prompto, which was saying a lot, as Prompto never quite let go of Ignis before the train ride to Gralea.)

Ignis and Stasios were, as Iris had gleefully informed Ignis over lunch one day, as comfortable as an old married couple. The knowledge had made Ignis choke on his food, and even after Iris had pounded on his back, laughingly apologized (her sense of humor was dangerously similar to Noct’s) and regretfully left Lestallum for Meldacio, Ignis found himself musing on her words.

It didn’t come up in conversation until after one grueling hunt that had left them both too tired to stand for showers, and they were both stripped to their smallclothes, sitting on Ignis’ sofa. “Why do this, Stasios?” Ignis asked quietly. “Why do so much for me when you get so very little in return?”

“Who says it’s so very little?” Stasios replied, his voice quieter than Ignis’. Indeed, the blind man had to focus to hear the rest of the response. “I take pleasure in sharing time with you, and in this world of ruin, pleasure is so rarely found.”

Pleasure. Ignis rolled the word around in his mind, moving his tongue against the word without parting his lips. “I find your presence comforting, that is true. And in that, there is a certain measure of pleasure. And while I am well aware you had a lover, you have not asked that of me, and still you remain.”

There was a soft chuckle from beside him, and then the faintest touch of lips against his shoulder. Nothing different than Ignis had been given before, and yet, somehow it felt like more. “I remain just for that reason.”

“To kiss my shoulder?”

“To make you think.”

“I think you’re certifiable.”

“That, my friend, is almost a certainty,” Stasios laughed softly and in no time, the two men were asleep, leaned against each other on the sofa.


	10. Chapter 10

It took two more months for Stasios to make an actual move on Ignis. He invited the Crownsguard to his place, treating him to dinner, and then holding him against his chest on the sofa as he read aloud from a well-loved book that hadn’t been translated into Braille. It was casual, one hand threading through hair, the other holding the book, and then somewhere along the way it had turned into lazy explorations of bodies that each already knew.

To be honest, Ignis thought he’d started it by accident, having not replaced his gloves after helping with the dishes, but by the time they fell asleep in each other’s arms, Ignis wasn’t complaining. And yes, Ignis was going to catch such hell from Iris once she figured it out, but he allowed himself the private smile that he’d enjoy her teasing.

By mutual and unspoken agreement, the relationship remained informal. If Ignis wished to spend time with Stasios, the gloves came off. If Ignis was dead set on tromping around and trying out his new physical-based weapons, so be it, the gloves stayed on and off he went. Sometimes Stasios went along. Sometimes he didn’t.

Sometimes Ignis showed up after a battle and Stasios reminded him how it was to live. Occasionally, when Ignis smelled too much of ichor and foul darkness, Stasios threw him in the shower. Rarely did he close the door in Ignis’ face. (In truth, it happened once, and only after Ignis had been gone for three cycles straight. Ignis was never ‘missing’ for that long again.)

Ignis moved through the shadows in and out of Lestallum, dissuading those who would prey on others, assisting those who needed guidance, and occasionally outright rescuing someone in need of defending from one danger or another.

Soon the streets were filled with talk of a ghost in Lestallum, some claiming it was the lost King of Lucis, others believing it to be one of his companions. Either way, the nickname ‘Ghost’ stuck, and after a few months, it came out that they were talking about Ignis.

Meldacio made note, and any hunt attributed to the Ghost was paid out to Ignis Scientia. Sometimes there were extra hunts attributed, especially from those who benefitted by his experimental tech. It was just their way of thanking the man. Ignis, in turn, took that extra funding and rolled it into further research, offering his own bounties for information above and beyond what he already knew.

And then Prompto turned up in the dark of a back street and Ignis led him home, suddenly very aware of the different life he was living. He settled Prompto in, and then hurried to Stasios’ to explain the visitor. Stasios, understanding and patient Stasios, promised to give the Crownsguard space, kissed Ignis thoroughly with another unspoken promise and sent the somewhat harried man on his way.

 

Ignis hadn’t intended to put out Noctis’ things, and it rattled him a bit that Stasios had moved the clothing. Then again, it wasn’t clear that the clothing didn’t belong to Ignis. In the past, Noctis had worn Ignis’ shirts with little issue, and Ignis had once observed that the shorts the young prince had preferred were quite a bit longer on Noct’s shorter form than they might be on Ignis, but Ignis wouldn’t be caught dead wearing shorts. Except perhaps to swim in, that was a different story. (He’d never forget Prompto’s pronounced amazement that Ignis had knees in Galdin Quay.)

Eventually, Ignis calmed Prompto, and took the opportunity to poke some fun into his old friend. Stasios was rubbing off on him, he thought, and that combined with Prompto’s reactions pushed him over the edge into his own laughter.

After getting Prompto set with new clothing and sending him on his way to see Aranea, Ignis settled down to his book. It wasn’t intentional, the appearance of an older sibling or a father figure waiting up for someone after a date; Ignis was just in a good part of the book and he wanted to continue reading.

What he hadn’t expected was Prompto to return sooner than later, and then get called out to a hunt. And when Prompto invited him along, Ignis thought it was the perfect time to test out some of his new weaponry he hadn’t been able to test with Stasios.

Launching into battle hadn’t been the cleanest he’d ever done, but it had been a while since he’d leapt off of the back of a jumpship, and he considered it a job well done that one black flan died after his attack.

The chemical bombs made all the difference and Ignis was starting to get the feel for them when Aranea took one and used it to finish the lakhmu flan off. Once again part of a team with camaraderie, Ignis felt himself fall into the old familiar patterns of bicker and banter, especially when Prompto defensively offered to cook. Ignis was having none of that, and said as much.

Eventually, after a few stops, they returned to his residence, and the choreographed chaos of cooking began. Ignis didn’t mind, though he had to be stern in the light of the knives in use. It worked out in the end, the meal was good, and Aranea sauntered off into the night, leaving the men in higher spirits than they had been in for some time.

“A remarkable woman, Prompto. Multifaceted and in her own way, fascinating. She seems to regard you quite favorably. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.” Ignis found himself approving of the pair, and he smiled a bit for Prompto’s sake.

She’s out of my league, Ignis, but if she’s willing to share company, that’s fine with me. A hunter’s life isn’t exactly the kind of life you settle down into, anyway. Go on up, Ignis. I’ll get the little bit that’s left and then call it a night."

Ignis nodded, and turned, with every intent of climbing the stairs, but turned back suddenly, at a thought. “Prompto. Be here in the morning. I’d prefer to see you off than allow you to slip away into darkness once again.” The stillsight couldn’t show emotion, but Ignis knew what Prompto was thinking. The younger man had always been transparent, and Ignis had good hearing.

“Yeah, okay, Ignis. See you in the morning,” Prompto replied softly, and Ignis nodded, then climbed the stairs to his room. It wasn’t a surprise, Ignis knew Prompto couldn’t stay in Lestallum, but he had to confess, a part of him would be sad to see his old friend go.


	11. Chapter 11

When he woke, Ignis prepared a rare pot of coffee (it was getting harder and harder to find decent beans) and waited for Prompto to join him. It didn’t take long for the blonde to stir, and after some shuffling out in the front room, Prompto wandered in. Ignis slipped into the stillsight and replied when Prompto greeted him.

“Morning, Prompto. Coffee?” Ignis waved in the direction of the coffee maker, and moved towards the cooler. “There's plenty in the pot, help yourself. I was going to make breakfast if you were interested. Protein and grains will give you the energy you'll need for your trip.”

“How did you know? I hadn't told anyone.” Prompto shuffled around, and Ignis heard Prompto pour himself a cup. Good, it was only worth making coffee now if one could share it, and Stasios didn’t drink coffee. It was his only fault.

“I do have excellent hearing, Prompto, and I heard Esme tell you in Meldacio. You're to go to Hammerhead and help Cindy hold the fort.” Ignis opened the cooler door and retrieved the egg and rice mixture he had pre-cooked before, setting it on the counter and then pulling other smaller bowls out to join it.

“Yeah,” Prompto sighed, and Ignis heard the chair creak as Prompto sat. “Couple of years ago, that would have been my dream job. Now? Now I’m not so sure anymore. I kind of liked being a Hunter on the loose without a home base.” The mug bumped against the table and Ignis caught a sense of reluctance from the other.

“And you’re certain a particular svelte figure in armor has nothing to do with your change of heart?” It wasn’t quite teasing, as Ignis was serious, but there might have been a slight quirk of a smile on his lips. Perhaps. “As much as Aranea offered to hunt with me, your fighting styles are far more agreeable.”

There was an undignified sound from behind Ignis, but then Prompto had never been much for dignity. “Ignis, I think you said it best: Aranea Highwind doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to, and I’m sure ‘settle down in one place’ isn’t on her list. Besides, we went on one date and one hunt. That might be enough for some people to call a relationship, but it isn’t enough for me.”

A very large part of Ignis was pleased to hear that out of the younger man. He considered his reply as he cooked, taking the moment to focus on the scent of heat and egg before deciding the meal was ready and transferring it into a bowl for Prompto. Ignis rarely bothered with breakfast anymore, but he held some back for himself so Prompto wouldn’t feel self-conscious. The dish was placed on the table, and only then did Ignis speak. “Have faith, Prompto. Noct will return, the sun will rise, and you won’t pass the time alone.”

“Yeah, maybe. Kinda hard to keep the faith when you feel like you’re permanently parked on top of a rock and hoping that the enchantments won’t fail you while you’re sleeping.” Metal hit ceramic, and Prompto began to eat.

“Let us hope, then, that you make it to Hammerhead before you feel the need to rest,” Ignis replied as he sat across from Prompto with his own bowl. “If you need to nap again before you leave, please, feel free to do so.”

“Nah… I’ve slept more since I got to Lestallum than in the past couple of months. If I sleep any more, I won’t get up.” His fork settled against the ceramic with a quiet finality. “I’ll just take a few to get my stuff repacked and roll out as soon as I can, maybe see if anyone’s going out on patrol and ride with them for part of the way.”

“Which way will you go? Do you bother with the roads on the motorcycle? I hear tales that some of the roads are in bad repair.” Ignis rose and refilled his coffee before turning back to the table and sitting again, watching the magic swirl within Prompto and wondering quietly if this was an emotional response he could see.

“I do ride the roads to help keep track of the places that are falling apart, and if I’m on my own, I’ll go up and around then down through Rydelle and across Alstor. I don’t go past Fallgrove on my own if I can help it… place has gotten even creepier than before. Someone said they saw something like a Red Giant mated with a Behemoth that summoned a sword that moved on its own. Don’t know if I buy into it, but dude, I don’t want to see it for myself unless I have to.”

“That does sound daunting,” Ignis sipped his coffee. “At the very least, please send word back that you arrived safely. I know radio communications are spotty, and phones don’t count as remotely reliable anymore, but I’d appreciate the knowledge that you were safe.”

 “I’ll do my best to keep you in the loop of things over in Hammerhead, don’t worry.” There was laughter in Prompto’s voice, and Ignis studied the magical movements. Nothing looked different. Ah well. “Besides, I’ll expect you to keep me up to date about anything you work up that might be field tested in my pistols.”

 

An entirely too short of a time later, Ignis was standing at the door while Prompto thumped about his motorcycle. “Thanks, Ignis. For everything. I know things aren’t the best, and I don’t know if we’ll ever hear from…” there was a pause, “Gladio, but if I do… I’ll let you know if you want me to.”

“Please. Not knowing is the hardest. At least… if one knows, then there can be a measure of closure.” Ignis rested his hand on Prompto’s shoulder like he used to, back when they were younger and things weren’t quite so strange. “Likewise, what I hear, I will make sure it passes to someone heading to Hammerhead. Now get going, and don’t forget to send word.”

“Take care of yourself.” The hand that rested on his arm was slight, a brief touch, and then Prompto was moving, walking the motorcycle away from Ignis and into the darkness. Ignis stood and watched him go, the stillsight allowing him to track him long after the shadows of Lestallum should have swallowed him.

For a brief moment, Ignis considered following, but then he turned and closed the door behind him. Until Noctis returned, this was Ignis’ life. Ignis didn’t dare say _if_.


	12. Chapter 12

Ignis sat in a chair on his balcony, gloves to the side, fingers paused in his book, but his mind was far from the words they’d trailed across. Prompto’s presence had affected the once-advisor more deeply than he’d realized, and he was lost in memories of the four of them loose in Leide, fighting through the Weaverwilds and waking to the crisp morning and the scent of campfire.

He missed those days, missed the mayhem and the chaos of Noctis and Prompto clowning around the haven while he attempted to instill order. Hell, he even missed Gladiolus and his incessant insistence that Noctis stop being a damn wuss.

His thoughts were chased away by a knocking from below, and he replaced his gloves as he slid into the stillsight to navigate through the bedroom and down the stairs to the front door. Opening it, he was somewhat surprised to find Stasios standing there respectfully, as if to request permission to enter. Ah, yes. He didn’t know that Prompto was gone. “Stasios, come, my guest has departed… there is no need to stand on ceremony.”

Stasios needed no further prompting, moving to greet Ignis as he did every time he visited, hands on his upper arms to draw him close, and one kiss to each of Ignis’ cheeks. His forehead pressed against Ignis’ for a moment, and then he slipped past the thinner man to enter the residence itself. “I am sorry to have missed him, Ignis. Crownsguard Argentum, was it not? Word had it that he was in Lestallum.”

“Indeed he was,” Ignis replied as he followed Stasios, closing the door behind them. “He and Aranea Highwind accompanied me on a hunt to test out some new technology before he departed for his new assignment in Hammerhead.” Okay, so it was a bit of a stretch, being that Ignis didn’t know what had originally brought Prompto to Lestallum, but it worked better than confessing that he’d found Prompto on the streets and had taken him in like some stray cat.

“Argentum and Highwind both? That mark must not have survived long. She’s almost as fierce as the Immortal. Damn near legendary in her own time,” Stasios settled onto the sofa and waited for Ignis to join him. “You miss it, that life, I know you do, and I would give it back to you were it in my power.”

Ignis settled beside Stasios and leaned against him, comfortable and easy in his movements. “I do miss it, and I appreciate your thoughts. This is my life now, here in Lestallum, compiling what information I can, and preparing for the day when Noctis will return.” It was, all things considered, a good life. He had a roof, a bed, purpose and gil enough to support his research. When he wasn’t reminded of the days past and the things he’d lost, Ignis almost could feel satisfied.

“Then tell me of the hunt and your newest toys. I am certain there must be a story there worth the hearing,” Stasios invited, bringing an arm around Ignis and pressing another gentle kiss to the man’s temple, entwining his fingers into Ignis’ gloved hand. Contentment rolled off of Stasios, and Ignis knew that if all that happened this evening was the causal comfort, it was good enough.

 

So Ignis told him about the hunt and the chemical weapons, pausing before confessing that he’d killed a flan by landing on it; but in the end resolving to leave nothing out and bearing the laughter that it incited. Yes, it had been good to hunt again, and it had been refreshing to spend time with Prompto and Aranea, but this ease of being settled against Stasios was good too.

 

Four months later, Ignis was ghosting through the shadows of Lestallum as he returned from a solo excursion when two very familiar voices touched his ears. He turned, following the gentle younger voice pleading against the older and far grumpier until he came upon a young man and his grouchy older charge as the young man tried to convince the older that there was somewhere they could stay just near the Leville.

“Indeed, there is a wayhouse, though perhaps not the best choice in accommodations,” Ignis agreed as he stepped out of the shadows and made Talcott gasp in surprise. “There is, however, a place not too far from my own where you might find rest for the night that is cheaper, held in trust by some hunters, and far more accommodating.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Cid Sophiar grumbled under his breath. “Ignis Scientia to the rescue once more. There nothing you don’t do, boy?” Talcott snickered at the older man’s reaction to the sudden arrival of their familiar friend.

“See.” Ignis deadpanned, and tacitly ignored Talcott’s snort of amused surprise. “Come, let us make haste, as the sooner you are settled, the sooner we can discuss what brings you here.” He led them off towards his own residence, though stopped them a street short of Ignis’. A series of knocks on a door, and when the door opened, he introduced them.

It took no time to settle Cid and Talcott into a room, and the lone hunter whose was sleeping in the lower floor bedroom was happy to oblige the pair and move to an upper floor room. After all, everyone knew who Cid was, and his presence in Lestallum could only mean better tech.

After securing the room, Ignis learned that Cid had been exiled by his granddaughter, and that he was unamused, but not of enough health to argue with her. Talcott had volunteered to guide him, even though he was not quite fifteen, and Aranea had brought them up from Hammerhead as a personal favor to Prompto. That made Ignis snort, but he didn’t elaborate when asked.

He did, however, promise to put Cid in contact with the local crafters, starting with Jon and Licinia, in the hopes that the older man would find some kindred spirits and a new purpose in Lestallum, just as he had. Talcott, uncertain what he could offer, was immediately interested in Ignis’ mention of the war room and the research that had not yet been converted to Braille for Ignis to read. He offered to start digging into it, and it was all Ignis could do to make the young man promise to rest before they proceeded with their new lives.

As he left the pair in their new room, it hit Ignis with a wry bemusement. He was, once again, riding herd to wandering semi-wild chocobos. Good thing he was good at it.


	13. Chapter 13

The minute Ignis introduced Cid to Jon; he knew it was going to be a friendship made in steel. Jon, clever man, had just come up with a new mechanism for auto fire of ammunition, and Cid was critiquing it before it had even been handed over. Ignis and Talcott hovered by the door, for lack of anything to add to the discussion, and Licinia shooed them out before they got dragged into discussions as well.

Talcott asked after the war room, and that was how Ignis found himself halfway up to his ears in bundles of information as they carried as much as they physically could back to where Talcott and Cid were staying. Talcott didn’t say he could convert it to Braille, but he did offer to make extracts and summaries that could be read aloud to Ignis in due time.

In the interim, Prompto wrote to him, letters that started containing Braille, and before many months had passed, the letters shifted from written word to almost consistently Braille. Once again, the two had private communications, and each letter Ignis received was a new reason to smile.

Over those months with Talcott’s assistance, Ignis learned more than he’d thought possible. From the complete Cosmogony, he learned the history of the Starscourge, and from there, progressed through other documents. To his horror, he learned the true identity of Ardyn Izunia, once Lucis Caelum. And when he sat in his front room one night to put all of that together with the prophecy, the weight of the knowledge was suddenly so heavy that he couldn’t breathe; his chest tight and his heart pounding.

He sent Talcott out of his residence and buried his face in his hands, left the _still_ and sat in the darkness of his own thoughts for quite a while after that.

 

Hours later, a hand touched Ignis’ back gently, lips pressing to his temple as Stasios brought his other hand down Ignis’ arm and twined his fingers through the gloved fingers. Ignis felt it, but didn’t move, didn’t respond. His mind was a swirl of angry bitter pain and grief, and he was busy wallowing in it, thank you very much.

“Ah, Ignis, what has dimmed your heart that you sit thus?” There was a shift as Stasios kneeled next to him, moving to rest his free hand on Ignis’ leg. “What has left you so bereft?”

It took Ignis a few moments to put his thoughts into words, and when he did, the bitterness in his voice surprised even himself. “I’ve analyzed everything we’ve found and arrived at the only answer. No matter how I look at it, the data remains the same, and I cannot abide it. What it means… what it says. Blind. I was _blind_.” His free hand moved to catch in his hair, fingers tightening into a fist to tug as if it would remove the knowledge.

A gentle hand slid between his and his scalp, turning to take those fingers away from hair and draw the offending hand away and towards the other, both gloved hands now clasped within warm finger. “What did you not see, Ignis?”

“ _Noctis_.” The name was a prayer, a hiss, a moan. “It was foretold… the King of light, the Bringer of the Dawn… Dawn comes when the _night_ fades. How… was I so blind, I could not see?” The words were a bitter rush, Ignis rocking back and forth as he spoke in a harsh whisper. “Noctis… Noctis… Noct… _Night_.” The sound Ignis made was soul-deep, a whispered cry of grief. After that, the room fell quiet save for the soft sounds of breath and Ignis’ own heartbeat.

He was still rocking, unable to cry, unable to think anything beyond the implications in the words. Noctis would return. That was prophesied. “When darkness veils the world, the King of light shall come,” Ignis whispered the words, turning the thoughts over in his head again. And then, the rest of it, so clear, so… _Crystal_. His stomach twisted against the words even as he voiced them.

“O'er rotted soil, under blighted sky, a dread plague the wicked hath wrought. In the light of the gods, sword-sworn at his side 'gainst the dark the king's battle is fought.” Ignis shuddered against Stasios as the other man moved to embrace him. “Sword-sworn…” New realizations hit him and he flinched against the knowledge. “By the gods, _we’re_ escorting him to his _death_.”

“Ignis, Ignis, please, whatever darkness you have fallen into, let me be your light. Step away from the edge of this madness and leave it. This is the riddle of prophecy and the madness of men trying to make sense of it.” Stasios’ words were soft in Ignis’ ear, and the emotion he heard within them broke him from his mental spiral and scattered his thoughts to silence.

“Stasios?” Ignis asked quietly, his thoughts so scattered he was struggling to enter the _still_ and failing. “Stasios, take me out of here. I need air.” His hands clutched at the other man’s arm, and he rose slowly under Stasios’ assistance. Blind but for his vague ability to make out blurry shapes of light and dark, he relied on his companion to lead him out of the insanity of the war room and out into the chaos of the world.

 

Hours later, lying in Stasios’ bed, curled in his embrace, Ignis was awake. His mind was still slowly working through what he’d learned, and perhaps he was right. Perhaps he wasn’t. Either way, a quiet part of him knew there wasn’t one damned thing he could do about it. Whatever would happen, he would have to accept it, so he would walk forwards into Hell with Noctis and follow him wherever he led.

Only then did he find enough peace to close his mind’s eye and sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

When Stasios woke, Ignis arose with him, showered and dressed, then asked Stasios to walk with him back to his own residence, still unable to calm his thoughts enough to enter the _still_. Stasios offered nothing of his own thoughts further, simply assisting Ignis in his chosen tasks.

The first task was to box up everything related to his historical research. Cosmogony, documents, notes (both Braille and in Talcott’s neat handwriting,) everything. Ignis collected it and just boxed it as they found it, closing the lid on anything that had to do with the revelations from the night before.

When Talcott came by, Ignis gave him the box, telling the young man to do with it as he would, that he’d gotten Talcott started and the young man could take it from there. Stasios kept his mouth shut, and Ignis got his way. With the research gone, Ignis could put it from his mind and re-enter the _still_ , returning to some semblance of his now normal Lestallum-based life.

Sometimes it got too much for him, though, and he’d spend time parked on the balcony, blind to the world and rocking quietly in his grief. Stasios held him those nights. It was all he could do as Ignis drew further and further away from him.

Ignis threw himself into hunting, a fiercely vicious anger lacing his veins, every daemon he felled a silent testimony to his refusal to let the darkness win, to keep fighting for Noctis and his return, to push back the night and keep his king _safe_. Lethal force merged with grace, refined into a deadly dance that kept even other hunters away. Prompto had once thought Ignis dangerous. Ignis was a refinement beyond deadly, and he reveled in it.

Every night came tales from hunters of the Ghost dancing in the dark with daemons three times his size, flicks of his wrists sending daggers unerringly into his targets. When he was close enough to Lestallum, people clustered at the outlook to strain for glimpses of him as Ignis slipped in and out of danger, flickers of blue daggers and lance seeming extensions of the black-clad figure. Stasios was no exception, for this was starting to become the only way he saw Ignis.

 

A month later, Cid fell, breaking his hip, and subsequently made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t going to die in Lestallum and he wanted to go home to Hammerhead. Talcott caught Ignis in a rare moment at his residence, and after a few quiet words, Ignis packed.

Ignis was wearing his Crownsguard uniform when he knocked on Stasios’ door. He didn’t go in, simply stood outside the door and thanked Stasios for everything. Stasios rested his hands on Ignis’ shoulders, kissing him as his custom, and whispered a breathy farewell in a voice that broke with emotions restrained. In turn, Ignis’s gloved fingers caressed Stasios’ cheek, and then he offered a bow and turned away before his own emotions got the better of him.

 

The return to Hammerhead was orchestrated by Aranea, the silver-haired woman meeting them in Meldacio and hurrying them all to the safety of her ship. If she noticed a difference in Ignis’ behavior, the strange distance he held between himself and everyone else, she said nothing in favor of keeping the peace. After all, she knew Ignis wouldn’t have explained himself anyway.

 

In Hammerhead, it was easy to fall back into the role of Crownsguard Advisor and Strategist. He slipped into that mindset and pushed all things Lestallum and Stasios far away, filling his spare time hunting with Prompto and Gladio separately until the two finally came to a head in the lot in front of the camper. Ignis didn’t need his sight to know Gladio had goaded Prompto into pulling his weapon. And he didn’t need his empathy to know that Prompto wouldn’t shoot Gladio.

He certainly didn’t need his wits to know that Gladio was perfectly willing to accept whatever Prompto gave him, and he’d never confess to the grim satisfaction when he heard the dull impact of fist against flesh, then to sound again as the same fist impacted elsewhere. But he forced his feet to move as he approached the two men, rested firm hands on their heads and informed them it was high time they talked.

 

And so they talked. They parked out at Cotisse Haven, and it was Gladio who broke the silence, the gruff swordsman speaking quietly into the light over the campfire. Prompto spoke then, and Gladio listened, actually listened, and the two men slowly came to terms and each other’s points of view.

When Ignis spoke, it was only of Prompto and Gladio, and his perceptions of them and the resulting interactions with him. He said nothing of Lestallum, nothing of the prophecy and his suspicions that bordered on personal truths. If he was right, there was nothing to be done about it, and it would be yet another secret added to his list. If he was wrong? Well, it was known to happen.

The steely friendship of the Crownsguard was forged with the blood of a young boy, tested over years of misunderstanding and hurt feelings, and hardened by the light of a campfire holding back the darkest of nights. Once again, they hunted together, slept as a unit, and fought and bickered like boys and swore like men. They tested each other relentlessly, and in battle where one ended, another began. (Though both Gladio and Prompto readily agreed that Ignis was by far the most deadly of the trio.)

So when the call came to Hammerhead that Talcott had found Noctis, the men that stepped out of Takka’s at his return weren’t Crownsguard any longer.

They were Kingsglaive.


	15. Chapter 15

Ignis could barely look at Noctis. Whereas Prompto and Gladio were brighter in magic than the other Kingsglaive Ignis knew, Noctis burned with it. The power swirling within him was awe inspiring, breathtaking, and heartbreakingly real. Everything he’d suspected was rushing headlong into the painful truth: Noctis had come back, the true king of light, and now he was going to die.

The knowledge sat behind Ignis’ heart and burned painfully through the hours until they were on the way to Insomnia. It lent his already deadly blades an even sharper ferocity, his stillsight almost as true as vision as he leapt and danced with his enemies. He would keep Noctis safe; he would keep that light within his king sacred. He. Would. Not. Fail.

And then they were there on that cliff overlooking Insomnia. Even Ignis could see the magic of the daemons from the distance, a particularly dense swath moving here and there that the advisor suspected was Ardyn. He didn’t breathe a word of it. How could he prove it? And while he knew Noctis would accept it at face value, it was Prompto and Gladio that he’d have to deal with after. No, best to keep his mouth firmly shut.

 

He was putting the camp stove away when Noctis snagged his arm and dragged him away from the task, waving to Gladio to take over for the advisor. “Noct… I-“

“Save it, Ignis. Gladio can put the cooking gear away just as well as you can,” Noctis said in a tone that brooked no argument. He nearly hauled Ignis bodily away from the campsite, parking the taller man next to the rock face and the cliff edge, speaking lowly only after giving Ignis a chance to collect himself from the indignity of being dragged off. “You want to tell me why you can’t look at me?”

“That would be because I’m blind, Noct. Small detail, indeed, though I’m surprised you forgot.”

The joke earned him one of Noctis’ sighs. “Ignis… that's not what I meant and you damned well know it. Now talk to me, Ignis. What the _hell_ is going on.” It wasn't a question at this point but a demand. If Ignis put it off further, it would likely become a Royal Command.

Against his heart’s desires the words came to Ignis. “O'er rotted soil, under blighted sky, a dread plague the wicked hath wrought. In the light of the gods, sword-sworn at his side 'gainst the dark the king's battle is fought. From the heavens high, to the blessed below, shines the beam of a peace long besought. 'Long live thy line, and this stone divine, for the night when all comes to naught.'”

Noctis went still and silent when Ignis started speaking, and when Ignis had finished the quote, silence settled between them like a wall. When Noctis said nothing, Ignis brought his fist to his chest, saluting Noctis, and then turned away to walk back to where Gladio was packing up the camp kitchen.

He waved Gladio away from the gear and Ignis packed it quietly and efficiently, stowing the gear in its case and setting it to the side. The task didn’t take nearly long enough, and Ignis soon found himself at loose ends. He sat by the fire and abandoned the _still_ , allowing the fire to become its true self: a blurry blob of light in the darkness.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Ignis allowed his open eye to close, to opt to sit quietly and let the warmth of the fire be his only companion while the others shuffled about. But it only stayed the one set of footsteps, and there weren’t any voices forthcoming. Noctis, then.

There was a soft sigh, and the footsteps approached, and then Noctis sat at Ignis’ feet and leaned on his leg. He hadn’t done that since before high school. “How was I supposed to tell you? Oh, by the way, when we go to Insomnia to kill my crazy immortal relative, I’ll die too.”

Noctis let out a short exhale of breath, a bitter laugh, Ignis realized, and then the king stilled himself. “So you know. And in a way, it makes things easier. But I haven’t told them yet. Not sure how. And before you suggest I just say it, think for a minute. What will it do to them? It’ll destroy Prompto. And Gladio, he’ll go off in a rage and get himself killed trying to take out whatever might hit me first.”

Ignis opened his mouth, but Noctis kept on talking. “I’m the king, sworn to protect my people. And I know, Ignis. I know you’re supposed to protect me… but… how can I not protect you guys and still be your king?” Noctis sighed again. “So please, don’t tell them. One last great battle, then let it be over. I’m tired, Ignis. I know I was gone for ten years, I get it. But the Ring… I can’t explain to you the burden.”

“I understand,” Ignis offered, slipping into the _still_ and looking to Noctis. “I met some of the surviving Kingsglaive in Lestallum. One of them showed me how to find the _still_. I understand. I use it to see… after a fashion, and I can leave the _still_ when I grow weary. I would hazard a guess that you cannot.”

Noctis had turned to look to him, and Ignis tracked the change in his magic, offering a faint smile in turn. “No, I can’t, Ignis. But you… that’s amazing.” There was something unspoken, a thought left unasked, as footsteps heralded the arrival of Prompto and Gladio. Ignis knew what he would have asked. ‘ _What happens to you and the_ still _after I’m dead and the Crystal’s magic is gone?_ ’ And Ignis’ answer? He’d adapt, just as always.

But it wasn’t asked, as instead, Noctis was rising to greet the others, chairs shuffling and seats taken. And then Noctis was talking, and the world fell away for a little while. Noctis had made his peace, and Ignis had too. Gladio and Prompto would get there as well, given time.

 

Time, alas, was something they had little of, for all too soon they were standing on the steps of the Citadel, hands fisted across their chests, turning away from their king as he climbed the steps, to take on the Iron Giants that had appeared. As the fight drew on, there was a pulse of power, throwing Ignis out of the _still_ , and he smelled sylleblossoms.


	16. Epilogue

Lestallum was hot, and in the unending night, it had been almost tolerable. Now that the sun had been back for two weeks, it was once again unbearable and the residents had taken to retreating during the heat of the day. Unfortunately, the two men standing in the lobby of the Leville didn’t have that option.

They certainly weren’t dressed for the area, either, long sleeved military-style jackets buttoned across fitted vests with standing collars. The larger and darker man lifted a hand to tug at his collar, earning a tsk of disapproval from the smaller blond standing beside him. “Cut it out.”

“Since when did you stand on ceremony?” The larger man grumbled, half-turning to cast a glance to the paler man.  “You’re the last one I’d have expected to be complaining to me about being out of uniform.”

The blond ignored the sweat rolling down his back and looked to the small box in his hand, not willing to rise to the verbal jab. “Just deal, and once we’re done, you can wear whatever you want.”

The darker man grunted, but anything he might have said was cut off by the arrival of a pale woman with sandy brown hair (just like his,) the blond thought, and she came to a stop when she saw them, moving to salute them in proper fashion. The salute was returned, and only then did Licinia Ferrae approach the pair.

“Argentum, Amicitia,” she greeted, carefully not casting her eyes for the missing man. “Licinia Ferrae. Welcome to Lestallum. I understand you’re looking for someone.”

Gladiolus Amicitia’s response was a subvocal sound that earned him a quick glance from Prompto, who turned his attention to Licinia. “Ignis left someone behind in Lestallum, a companion… We- I’m looking for him. Do you know who he was? Is?”

That gained a swift and sharp inhalation of breath from the larger man. A companion? _Ignis_? He hadn’t… no, of course he wouldn’t have known. Ignis had been far more private by far, and it wouldn’t have been in his style to share that, even if they’d been on better terms.

The woman’s eyes fell to the box in Prompto’s hands, and her shoulders fell a little, eyes softening. “Yes, Stasios Teleon, a former Kingsglaive like myself. I can… take you to him, if you’d like. Or have him meet you here?”

Prompto thought it was a discussion better held in the privacy and familiarity of home, and motioned a hand to indicate the exit to the streets. “If you’d take us to him, it would be greatly appreciated.” That earned another snort from Gladio, who shook his head at Prompto’s formality, but moved along after the blond and their escort.

 

Licinia led them through the streets of Lestallum, winding around and away from where Prompto knew Ignis had lived. They were in an older area, but it was clear that the residents cared for their homes. It felt more Insomnian in this area than others, and Prompto figured that this had been the first place refugees from the Crown City had inhabited.

“That door,” Licinia pointed, unwilling to be the first person Stasios saw for this. It wasn’t her place. “Tell him… we’ll raise a glass tonight at the Leville. If you can stay… we’d be honored.’ She saluted again, departing before either man could ask further.

Prompto and Gladio stood there for a moment, looking at the door, and then Prompto sighed. “Let’s do this.” The words hurt, even as he said them; the same words Noctis often said when they left a campsite, or headed into a battle they knew wasn’t going to be easy. 

Gladio was the one to knock on the door, and after a few moments, they heard footsteps and the door opened to reveal a dark-skinned man with hair tightly braided against his scalp. It was shorter than Weskham’s had been, though his eyes were equally dark and warm. “Good morning, Crownsguard Argentum, Amicitia. Come inside.” He didn’t sound surprised in the least.

They followed him into the small residence, and hovered by the door, the awkwardness of the moment compounded by Gladio’s sheer size in the tiny foyer. Prompto did his best to ignore it, and presented the box. “I’m sorry we meet this way, but Ignis… Ignis fell in battle to protect the King… and you were important to him…” His voice faltered as Stasios reached out and took the box.

Inside, Prompto knew, was the small skull necklace Ignis had always worn. The man had no dog tags to hand over, so the necklace had been the next best thing. When Stasios opened the box, his lips curved in a sad smile, fingers of one hand moving to touch the pendant lightly before he closed the box and looked to the two men.

“Thank you, for bringing this to me. My time with Ignis, though brief, was filled with wonderful memories.” He brought the box close to his heart and looked at the two. “We will raise a glass tonight at the Leville, as is our custom. Please, join us?”

Prompto smiled, ignoring Gladio’s rumble. “We will, thank you. I’m sure we have lots of memories we can share together. But for now, we will leave you to your privacy.” Prompto saluted Stasios, and Gladio followed suit. When Stasios sadly returned their salute, they ducked back out onto the streets and headed to the Leville.

“Didn’t know that.” Gladio rumbled quietly as they maneuvered through the hot sun, headed back towards the front of the city.

“All I knew was he had a companion. And no matter who it was, he deserved to know. I think there’s a lot we didn’t know about Ignis. Maybe we’ll learn tonight.”

“Mm. Maybe so.”

“I hope so,” Prompto replied, and they turned into the Leville, intent on retreating to the slightly cooler room where they could hang their jackets and think about those loved and lost.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end of the story, but not the end of my dabbling. Keep your eyes peeled for Tales of the Dawn King, a new companion series that will comprise of one-shots and short stories with the characters from the Dawn King Cycle.
> 
> I'm having too much fun here to say goodbye just yet...


End file.
